


Paper Rings

by octothorpetopus



Series: Lover [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Almost Though, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Boys In Love, Cute Kids, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen, IT (2017)-compliant, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Not Canon Compliant, POV Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier Being an Asshole, Richie Tozier Flirts, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, Stephen King's IT References, Weddings, actually all of lover is reddie, but like not really, paper rings is a reddie song change my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-10-01 21:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20404000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octothorpetopus/pseuds/octothorpetopus
Summary: While going through an old box of things, Richie finds something he hasn’t thought about in years- twenty-two years, to be exact- which prompts memories long vanished and a call to an old friend.





	Paper Rings

Richie came home to his Beverly Hills house (he refused to use the word mansion) to find a cardboard FedEx box sitting on his stoop. He unlocked the door and bent down to pick the box up, kicking the door open with the heel of his Gucci high-top sneakers. The house was dark- it was long past midnight. Richie had stayed at the studio for hours after his segment was done and the automatic recording was supposed to take over. He liked doing his voices and taking the calls and playing his favorite songs instead of the ones the studio execs bugged him to play. Until he almost fell asleep during "Bohemian Rhapsody" and finally went home.

He dumped the box on the long glass dining room table and hit the lights. Digging blindly through the kitchen drawers, he nicked his pinky on the box cutter.

"Damn it." He stuck the injured finger in his mouth and swiftly sliced the tape holding the box together. The box was from his mother, he knew that before he opened it, before he even looked at the return label. Every so often she sent him something, part of an ongoing project to clean out the attic that she had been trying to accomplish for the last twenty-five years. As per usual, there was a letter perched carefully on top of the contents of the box.

_  
Dear Richie,_

_It's been awhile since we heard from you. I know you're busy with your radio show (your dad showed me a clip on the youtube. He thought it was funny. I thought it was rather vulgar) but I wish you would call more._

_Anyway, I found this box of your stuff in the attic. I figured I'd send it to you in case you wanted to keep anything. I think it's just some old comic books, maybe a few report cards (although I don't know why you'd want to keep those), but maybe they've got some sentimental value. _

_Love you, kiddo. We'll see you at Christmas (although it would be nice to see you earlier!)  
_

_-Mom_

  
All of Richie's mother's letters had the same passive-aggressive tonality to them, which he resented, but that was how his mother had always been, just like his father had always been ornery-yet-affectionate. He tossed aside the letter. He'd call his mom. Eventually. Maybe. Probably not, if he was honest. Yeah, maybe that was a dick move, but he just didn't feel like he could handle it.

His mom had been right about the contents of the box. It was just stacks of old comics, X-Men and She-Hulk and Justice League, and his 7th grade report card (all A's, not that he'd have told anyone. He had a reputation to keep up). He spread the comics across the table. Dozens, probably worth hundreds, maybe thousands. All in excellent condition. Most of the stuff his mom sent him was worthless. This, though...

He picked up a Wolverine and flipped through it. Suddenly, he was fourteen again and nothing mattered except that he wouldn't be able to read the next issue for another week and he had to find out what was going to happen.

Richie finished the Wolverine and picked up the next... and then the next, and the next, and the next until suddenly he was at the bottom of the stack. He shut the back cover of the last Hellblazer and kicked back in his chair. His eyes fell to the floor, where something had fallen out of one of the books, which one he couldn't be sure of. He bent to pick it up, groaning as his spine cracked. It was paper, twisted and crumpled, but Richie knew immediately what it was. It was a paper ring, held together with scotch tape. How it had stayed together all these years Richie had no idea, but there it was.

He had made it when he was thirteen. Why?

For Eddie.

But who the hell was Eddie?

A friend. They had hung out when they were kids. The name fit easily in his mouth as he said it out loud.

"Eddie." Quietly at first, then again, louder. "Eddie. Eds." A nickname. He didn't even think it, it just came out. He didn't remember the nickname or the face that went with it, just a vague sense of pleasure that came only with calling someone a nickname that bugged them.

And then a memory came back. Not long, and it almost didn’t make sense, but there was a sense of recognition. A warm day, too warm for October in Maine, and yet there Richie was, twenty-two years younger, leaning against a rickety wooden bridge. There were hundreds, maybe thousands or initials carved into the side. It was called the Kissing Bridge, he recalled and almost blushed. The memories came snowballing back, few and far between at first, then in a steadily growing flood. His aluminum bike rested on its side next to him, where he'd gingerly laid it down. That bike and his comics had been the only things Richie had taken care of. There was a soft _whrrrrrrr-_ing noise approaching him, the sound of playing cards carefully laid between the spokes of a tire. A short kid about Richie's age hopped off the bike which was much too large for him and dropped it next to Richie's. It was Eddie, sure as the year had been 1990 and they were two boys who wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of Derry and take off across the country. Eddie's broken arm (he had broken it doing... something in that old abandoned house on Neibolt Street) had healed weeks ago, but he still carried it close against his body. His eyes fluttered with an apprehension that had begun long before that summer. Richie was unable to hold back a smile and jumped off the rail to pick up Eddie, swinging him around in a tight circle.

"Put... me down... you... bastard..." Eddie grunted as the air _whoomphed _out of his lungs. Richie obliged, although he squeezed Eddie just a little bit tighter before he did, just to feel the soft cotton of Eddie's T-shirt against his cheek. He smiled down at Eddie, the sun beating against the side of his pale, freckled face.

They were supposed to do homework together- it was only October and Mrs. Douglas had already assigned a big book report. Richie wasn't so big on the reading, or so he'd tell his friends or anyone who asked, but Eddie had spent so many years under his mother's watchful eye doing almost nothing but reading that together, with Richie's showmanship and Eddie's skill, they almost made one fully functional student. The Kissing Bridge was just a meeting spot- they'd head down to the library to work, but it was a Saturday and Richie had been playing in the Barrens almost nonstop since school had let out Friday at 2:30.

"But you're just so _cute!" _Richie squealed and pinched one of Eddie's cheeks. Eddie slapped his hand away with a sort of tender annoyance. They picked up their bikes and pushed off, the bleached and warped wooden boards of the bridge rattling beneath them. Richie whooped and tossed his head into the wind. He'd let his hair grow out over the summer, and the very back brushed against his shoulder blades. His glasses were now held together with no fewer than three pieces of electrical tape. It was nearly six o'clock, but the late fall sun had not yet begun to sink below the horizon. The golden light lit up Eddie's face in a way Richie hadn't seen since... well, he couldn't remember.

Richie snapped out of his memories, once again staring down at the timeworn paper band in his palm. He held it up, staring through it at the light. It looked as though it might still fit. He slipped his finger through the ring up to the second knuckle. It was a tight fit, to be fair, but with a few twists, he managed to fit the ring on his finger. It held fast. He turned his hand, examining the slip of white paper mixed among the assorted silver. A new memory hit, and Richie felt himself slip back into his own mind. Once again, Richie was fourteen, and it was October of 1990. His bike swayed from side to side under him as he wove around parked cars and passerby in the parking lot of the Derry Public Library. The sounds of Eddie's playing card spokes and the wind were deafening in his ears. He jumped off his bike before it even stopped, jogging until he could stop the bike's momentum. He heard a soft grunt as Eddie dismounted behind him and pulled up next to him.

"Wonder... if Haystack... 's here," he mused, out of breath.

"Probably. Isn't he always?" Richie answered, which made Eddie smile. Eddie had a nice smile, full of straight and even white teeth, and it made his warm brown eyes crinkle wonderfully, Richie thought. He had always thought that.

The front entrance of the library was freezing- they had finally found enough money in the budget for air conditioning, just in time for late fall- and Eddie shivered as they entered. He was a small kid to begin with, not a lot of meat on his bones, as Richie's mother might say, and his T-shirt and short shorts weren't exactly conducive to keeping him warm. Wordlessly, Richie shrugged off his jean jacket and handed it to Eddie, ignoring the goosebumps that spread up his own bare arms. Eddie accepted it with a smile. The sleeves were far too long for him, dangling well past his hands. Richie stopped him and helped him roll up the sleeves to his elbows. Ben was indeed at the library, but he was buried in a book so deep that despite testing six of his different Voices, including two new ones, on him, not even Richie could grasp his attention. Finally, Eddie dragged him away and they settled at a table of their own in the far corner, far enough away that they could talk normally and not get yelled at for being loud. Eddie pulled out a science textbook from his backpack and slammed it down on the table, wincing at the loud _bang _as it dropped. Richie leaned back in his chair and let his head drop.

"C'mon, Rich, we gotta work. You're gonna fail that test on Monday if you don't study."

"So?" Richie didn't dare tell Eddie that he knew everything that would be on the test, and that he was pretty confident he'd do better on the test than Eddie himself, but if he told him, Eddie wouldn't help him study anymore and that... well, that just wouldn't fly. "It's one test, Eds-"

"Don't call me that-"

"-and if I fail, so be it." Richie spread his arms dramatically and shrugged. "I shall live as I live and die as I die, sir."

"Shut up and read, Richie." Richie frowned, or tried his hardest to, but he couldn't hold it. He just had to smile. Eddie did too. Richie's smile was infectious, like his enthusiasm. Unfortunately, so was brief attention span and his inclination to procrastinate, so it wasn't long before Eddie had pushed the books aside and the two of them were laughing and talking and any thoughts of homework and home at all were long forgotten. That is, until Eddie checked his watch.

"Shit. I gotta get home or my mother's gonna have a coronary."

"I gave her a coronary last night, if you know what I mean." Richie winked exaggeratedly.

"I hate you."

It was half-dark outside when they straddled their bikes and set off for Richie's house. Richie lived in the outer suburbs, just over the Kissing Bridge. He insisted Eddie didn't have to come with him, it was way out of his way and besides it was already dark, but he was secretly pleased when Eddie insisted on it. They wove in lazy zig-zags across the empty roads, bouncing back and forth between racing on the back streets and circling around each other on the narrow main roads. They were halfway across the Kissing Bridge when Eddie pulled over to the side of the road and stopped, almost in the exact same spot they had met earlier. He was still wearing Richie's jacket, and Richie was delighted at how warm and comfortable Eddie looked in it.

"Why'd we stop, Eds? Thought you said your mom'd have a heart attack or somethin'." Eddie shrugged and gave Richie a tired smile.

"She probably will, but it's fine. Can't get any worse than when I broke my arm." He swung his legs over the side of the fence and balanced just right so that he could sit on the narrow expanse of the wooden railing. He turned to smile invitingly at Richie. He was little more than just a silhouette against the moonlight. Richie wished he had his camera with him. He sat down next to Eddie, his legs dangling several inches below Eddie's. They were so close Richie could have reached out and taken Eddie's hand if he wanted to. And he did want to. Before he could, and possibly make the biggest fuck-up of his life, he jammed his hand in his pocket, where it twisted around a crumpled drugstore receipt. "I know you're smart," Eddie said suddenly, breaking the silence that had settled over the now-cool October evening.

"Huh?"

"I mean... you act stupid. And you say you're stupid. And you make everyone else think you are. But you're smart. Real smart. Maybe smarter than me." Richie laughed, big and warm and carefully manufactured to sound careless. It sounded tinny in his ears.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Big E." Still, his fingers wound tighter around that receipt in his pocket, tearing it into bits and twisting them into short strings.

"Yeah, you do. I saw your last test, Richie. Before you could flip it over. You got an A-plus. I got a B." When Richie turned to look at him, Eddie was beaming with pride. Not for himself, though. "I don't know if it's that you don't see it, or that you don't want to, but you really are crazy smart. Which means..."

"Which means what?" Richie's stomach twisted. He felt like he might puke.

"Why'd you ask me to help you study if you don't need it?" And there it was. The question Richie had dreaded answering since asking Eddie to come out tonight. Richie turned around and hopped off the fence, his hands still deep in his pockets. He was curling the shredded receipt around his fingers now.

"I dunno. Keep up the charade, I guess." Something crossed Eddie's face briefly. Was it relief? Or... or disappointment? Whatever it was, the sinking, twisting, burning feeling in Richie's stomach was getting worse. He had to kill the tension, that was all he was good at. And then, as the receipt bounced from finger to finger of his left hand, an idea struck. He smirked at Eddie and arched an eyebrow behind his fishbowl glasses. "Why? Did you think I was in _loooove_ with you?" He swayed side-to-side in a mock swoon. "Do you want to get _married, _Eds?" Richie produced one of the paper strings from his pockets and quickly looped it into a ring. He dropped melodramatically to one knee and raised the paper ring up to Eddie. "Eds, Edward, Eddie-my-love, will you make me the happiest man alive? Will you marry me?" Eddie's face flashed with that same tender irritation that he always seemed to have when he looked at Richie, but it quickly faded as he decided to play along.

"Yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes!" Eddie shot to his feet and pressed his hands to his chest, fluttering his obnoxiously long eyelashes. He held out his hand, and Richie slid the ring onto his slender finger. And then the character changed, and Richie was a priest presiding over a wedding.

"Dearly beloved," he began, his voice nasally and droning, "we are gathered here today to join together in marriage Edward Franklin Kaspbrak and Richard 'Trashmouth' Tozier. Eddie, your vows?"

"Um... I vow to stop hitting you with my aspirator when you annoy me with your Voices. And to let you keep the Galaga high score at the arcade. Yeah. That's it." Now Richie was himself again, the big, mocking, melodramatic version of himself.

"Eds, I vow to stop saying I fucked your mother, even though I did." Eddie hit Richie in the arm with his aspirator. "And to stop pretending I'm an idiot." The drama began to fade from Richie's face. He could feel it. He was just speaking now, there was no acting, no Voice. "To live up to the potential you think I have."

"Richie..." Eddie's hand, his good one, rested on Richie's arm. Richie laughed, drawing back just enough that it slipped away.

"Kidding. Mostly. Anyway, I still need my ring." He dug a second strip of paper out of his pocket and tied it around his own finger. And then he was the priest again, a little more lackluster than before.

"By the power vested in me by Keene Pharmacy, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss the... fuck." Eddie smiled.

"Guess that doesn't really apply."

"Guess it doesn't." Their eyes met across the space between them, and although it was only a foot, maybe a foot and a half, it seemed like miles. Richie took a halting step forward. Eddie matched him. Then it was Eddie staggering forward, closing the space little by little. They approached each other in tiny steps. Eddie was staring up into Richie's face, the moon reflected in his huge brown eyes. He stood up on his tiptoes and Richie leaned down and bit by bit the space between them closed until their lips met in a kiss. It was Richie's first kiss, and unbeknownst to him, Eddie's too. It was a nothing kiss, just barely a brush, and later Richie wouldn't even be sure that their lips had touched, but they did. In the October moonlight, two boys shared a first kiss.

It was Eddie who broke the kiss. He was breathing heavily, which quickly turned into wheezing, which quickly became a full-on asthma attack. He groped for his aspirator, which was shoved trigger-down in his back pocket, as usual, jammed it into his mouth, and breathed deeply as he pulled the trigger.

"Better now?" Eddie nodded, his eyes still watery, although if it was from the coughing or the kiss, Richie couldn't tell.

"That was nice," Eddie said once he regained his composure. "Really nice."

"Yeah," Richie said softly. "It was." So Richie kissed him again, this time with more fervor.

Several kisses later, the sun was hardly more than a few traces of yellow light at the base of an otherwise black sky. Richie took Eddie's hand, his bad one, the one he always held close to him so that it wouldn't re-break, and they walked their bikes to Richie's house, laughing and talking like usual. But this was not a night like usual, because in the shadows cast between the floodlights framing Richie's front porch, Eddie kissed him one last time, then rode off on his bike, yelling and whooping like this was the best night of his life. It was certainly the best night of Richie's. Richie opened his front door and went home, still twisting the pharmacy-receipt paper ring around his finger.

Twenty-two years later, Richie was doing the same thing, sitting at his dining room table, staring down at the ring that somehow hadn't fallen apart between the pages of a comic book. What had happened to Eddie, to both of them, that Richie hadn't thought of him in over two decades? In the back of his mind, Richie remembered something about New York. His laptop was sitting on the table beside him, and he flipped it open. You could search up anyone on the internet these days and find almost anything about them. Slowly, with hesitant fingers that seemed fat and clumsy, Richie spelled out a name:

_Eddie Kaspbrak_

Then, after a moment, he added:

_New York City_

The gray circle in the upper right-hand corner of the screen spun for a moment, and then the results showed. The first result was for Royal Crest Limousines. Richie clicked on it. It appeared to be a fairly average luxury limo company. Richie's mouse hovered over the 'about' tab. He scanned the first few lines (something about the origin of the limousine, it wasn't very interesting) before finally finding what he was looking for:

_Contact Us_

There was an address, an email, and finally, a phone number. Richie pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and faltered. It was nearly five in the morning here. There was no chance he would be awake. But then, Richie remembered in a moment of clarity that made him feel stupid for pausing in the first place that New York was three hours ahead of Los Angeles. It would be almost eight there. So maybe not... but maybe. Richie dialed the number and waited. The phone rang. Once... twice... three times... It was halfway through the fourth ring, as Richie was about to hang up, that the line clicked and a tired (but female) voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Um, yeah. Hi. This, um-" At that moment Richie realized he had not considered at all what he was going to say.

"Hello?" The voice asked again.

"Hi, can I speak with Eddie Kaspbrak, please?" There was a pause. Richie's thoughts raced. Was he dead? Or had he gotten the entirely wrong company?

"One moment, please, while I transfer your call." He breathed a sigh of relief that hitched in his throat as a new voice answered him.

”Hello, Royal Crest Limos, Eddie Kaspbrak speaking.” The voice was deeper and gruffer than the one Richie remembered, but it was Eddie, one-hundred-percent.

”Hey, Eds.” That was all Richie could think of to say. There was no response, and for a moment, Richie thought he might have hung up.

”...Richie?” And there he was, that scared, delicate, brave boy that Richie has known all those years ago. Richie remembered hearing his name said in that exact tone a thousand times over the phone when he asked Eddie to the arcade or to their clubhouse in the Barrens. And when Eddie had blinked open his bleary eyes in the hospital, his broken arm done up in a sling, to see a worried Richie standing over him.

”Eddie,” Richie said again, and he was unable to stop a smile from spreading across his face.

”Holy shit,” Eddie said softly. Then he laughed, bright and warm and clear, just like he’d laughed on that October night. “Holy shit, Trashmouth.”

”Eds, how you been?” That was all Richie could think to say.

”I’m... I’m good, Rich.” And just like that, they fell back into old nicknames, old patterns. “And so’s your mom. We’ve been very happy together.” Richie cackled with laughter and kicked his feet up on the table. “How ‘bout you?”

”Yeah, I’m good too.”

”Where are you living these days?”

”Los Angeles.” Richie hesitated. “I’m a radio deejay.”

”Of course you are. I’m in New York... but you already knew that. Because that’s how you contacted me.”

”Yeah, yeah.” There was an uncomfortable silence.

”So, why... I guess I’m just asking...”

”Why’d I call?”

”Hah. Yeah, pretty much.”

"My mom sent me a box of old stuff. Some comic books and whatever from when we were kids. And mixed in there was this little paper ring that I made, and I guess it brought back some memories, er- Eds, do you remember the day we got married." Once again, the other line fell silent, and Richie worried Eddie had hung up, that this whole thing had been a prank or something and he wasn't really talking to his old friend Eddie Kaspbrak, the slender, small boy that had given Richie his first kiss and was probably his first love.

"I... I do." Somehow, although they were almost 3,000 miles apart, Richie knew that Eddie had just taken a hit of his aspirator as the memories returned. "That night on the Kissing Bridge."

"Aptly named." Eddie laughed, but it was quieter and mellower than earlier. "Anyway, my ring must have been in the cover of one of the comic books, because I just found it and it's in really good condition. And I just thought I should call you and see-" There was a rustling sound as if Eddie was digging through something, and then Eddie crowed triumphantly into the receiver.

"I've got a dictionary from middle school in my desk, and I thought maybe I'd kept something in there, but I was never sure, and Richie?"

"Yeah?"

"It's there. My ring. In mint-fucking-condition."

"I'm wearing mine." Richie smiled and felt warm tears begin to trickle down his cheeks. "You should wear yours. For old times sake or whatever." Eddie laughed for a third and final time that day, but this was a hollow, regretful laugh.

"I don't think my wife would like that very much." Richie's throat closed over and he thought he could have used Eddie's aspirator right then. His _wife?_

"Your _wife?" _Richie asked incredulously. Once again, he had one of his feelings that on the other side of the country, on the other end of the phone, Eddie Kaspbrak had returned to his old nervous habit of tapping out Elton John songs with his index finger.

"Yeah. Myra."

"...oh."

"I don't really want to talk about her, Richie."

"Neither do I." They both chuckled at this, but it was over. They both knew it.

"Give me another call sometime, Rich. And if you're ever in New York."

"I know, Eds. If you're ever in LA..."

"Beep-beep, Richie." Richie couldn't help but smile through the soft tears that had begun to fall faster and harder.

"Yeah, alright. I'll see you, Eddie-Spaghetti." He hung up the phone and set it face-down on the table. He held out his hand to admire the paper ring under the chandelier. The memories that had returned to him so quickly were beginning to fade in chunks. He wiped absently at his cheeks. Why had he been crying?

And why was he wearing a little paper ring, held together with scotch tape and marked with faded ink that once upon a time had read Keene's Drugstore?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, thanks for reading! I really thought Paper Rings (and Lover as a whole) just channeled Reddie energy. Would you guys be interested in a whole series of Lover-inspired Reddie fics? They would all be standalones inspired by different songs from Lover. I've got plans for I Think He Knows, Death By A Thousand Cuts, Soon You'll Get Better, It's Nice To Have A Friend, and Daylight. Let me know in the comments! And, as always, I always read and appreciate any comments or feedback.  
Thanks so much. -C


End file.
